Clockwise
by tainteddaughter
Summary: A therapy group leads a red-haired girl and a golden eyed boy to discover that the solutions to all their problems lie within each other. Clary seems to be the only one who can save him from himself. (Clace AU/Human)
1. One

So I've had this poem stuck in my head constantly and I was going to write a Violet/Tate story around it, but thought it would be better if I chose Clary and Jace. I have no idea if I'm going to finish this story, so if you like it please review so I'll continue!

This story takes place in modern day, the rest you can discover! Enjoy.

* * *

**Clary's POV:**

"_And this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee; so that her highborn kinsmen came and bore her away from me, to shut her up in a sepulchre, in this kingdom by the sea._"

I hear from next to me. The room applauds as Simon finishes his poem, but I only move my hand to try to hide my laughter. I gave him the page from my Edgar Allan Poe book so that he wouldn't have to worry about writing a poem of his own. I don't understand the point of writing out our feelings, because I would much rather paint them, but Mrs. Greene demands writing.

The applause dies down and it's my turn, so I hastily raise from my seat. My eyes dart around the room to stare at each person, in a clockwise direction. To the left of me is Simon, who is adjusting his glasses, then Isabelle, a sort of gothic girl who was put here due to her reckless behavior. Next to her is her brother, Alec, and they look just alike- though his eyes are much more cold and demeaning, and the last person in the circle is Magnus, who looks great in his light purple sweater. There really aren't many of us in this group but all of our personalities are different. It provides some sort of interest in the atmosphere. Not like I have much of a choice to come, my mother is forcing me. Mrs. Greene raises her eyebrows and I wince.

"I kind of didn't write one.." I mumble, twisting my hands together nervously, "I'm terrible at writing. Nothing was working."

Isabelle rolls her eyes, but Mrs. Greene gives me that fake, apologetic therapist look. It reminds me of the one my mom used to put on.

"Listen Clary, I know it seems hard but-"

She is cut off by the loud, squeaking noise of the door opening. I immediately spin around, and almost fall backwards.

At the door is a boy who appears to be my age, although he is unlike anyone I have ever seen. His hair is a light gold, and he wears a smirk like he owns it. I watch him closely as his eyes wander around, until they fall on me. Of course, I chose today to wear my hair up in a bun and forget to put on makeup, but he continues to look at me. And his smirk, his smirk widens.

"You must be Jace!" Mrs. Greene announces and I break out of my strange daydream. He nods and takes a slight step forward, but keeps his distance from the rest of us.

"And you must be my least favorite person!" He replies, and I stand in a bit of a shock. I've done terrible things because of my father's abuse, but at least I know not to be rude to authority. But he, Jace, seems to challenge it. For an instant, I swear that his eyes dart to me just as I think that.

Mrs. Greene's cheeks are a bright red, but she keeps her peppy attitude and leads him into the circle. He takes a chair where the 12 would be on the clock, and practically falls into it like it's a bed. I wonder why he's in this group, although something tells me its pretty serious. Maybe he's schizophrenic, or an arsonist or something.

"How about we all go around and introduce ourselves to Jace?" Mrs. Greene asks, and Isabelle groans. I agree. This lady keeps treating us, juniors in High School, as if we were in kindergarten.

"I'm Magnus," I hear from the left side of the room. Jace puts on a face of false interest.

"Alec."

"Isabelle."

"Simon."

Then, all of his attention- or maybe annoyance is on me.

"Clary," I say, watching him with equal intensity. Mrs. Greene grins wildly at all of us, and begins up the poetry circle, but I can still feel Jace's eyes on me. Those eyes that are light, but dark at the same time.

What has he done to get into this group?

And what have I done to spark his interest?

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Not really sure how this turned out but I'd love to hear your opinions.


	2. Two

_**Clary's POV**_:

After the longest hour of my life, Mrs. Greene finally ends the session. I breathe a long sigh of relief as we all begin to stand up from our chairs. Isabelle immediately begins talking to Alec, although Alec's attention is mainly on Magnus.

"You want to get coffee on the way back?" Simon asks me. We have to walk back home from this building every week, although I don't really mind. Simon is my best friend and makes great company. I'd walk with him anywhere. I accept his offer with a nod and quickly turn behind me. Jace is still sitting in his chair, looking up at me with a quizzical expression.

"I'll meet you outside. I need to use the restroom," I lie. Simon seems to believe it and continues to walk out the door. We know each other well, but I'm a great liar. It's something I've acquired over the years. As soon as his brown hair is out of sight, I sigh. Leave it to me to make bad decisions.

Swiftly, I begin walking towards the other side of the room. Normally I'm not one to introduce myself to strangers, but we've been practically staring at each other this entire time so I don't feel very awkward.

"Can I help you?" Jace announces, crossing his arms a bit defensively. I'll admit, I was hoping he wouldn't be an asshole towards me, but I go along with it.

"You know class ended, right? Might want to get up." I say and he rolls his eyes.

"I'm hanging out here until the building closes."

"Why?" I mumble but I know he won't answer.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Isabelle, Magnus and Alec have all left the room by now. I know Simon will probably be looking for me. We know each other well enough that even our schedules coordinate. My eyes return back to Jace. I notice now that he's mainly wearing all black, causing his golden figure to stand out.

"Then I guess I'll see you next week." I say and quickly head out of the room.

* * *

"Thanks again for the poem, Clary." Simon laughs as he takes a sip of his coffee. We spend a lot of time in this particular shop, either after school or after our sessions. It's always been Simon and I. We have known each other forever, and he helped me with all of my family problems. His mother even helped my own turn her life around. Simon doesn't really have many problems, except for some bullying at school, but he comes with me to therapy anyway. I don't think I've ever been more thankful for somebody in my life.

"I should've just copied one for myself. You think she's ever read _the Raven_?"

Simon laughs along with me. Our conversations are always effortless, so much so that we are often mistaken for a couple, but I don't think about him in that way. He is my best friend- nothing more and nothing less.

"What do you think Jace did to get put in there?" I try to ask casually.

"I don't know. He seems like a jerk."

"Yeah."

I wish that Jace didn't act so disinterested, because I can tell that behind that mask, he probably cares more than anyone. There are always people like that. Broken people who try to hide but always end up getting hurt the most.

I need to stop thinking about him.

"Was there English homework?" Simon asks and I come back into reality.

"Yeah. Page 160 in the workbook. You haven't done it?"

"It's a Friday, Clary. Nobody does their homework. And it's getting late, lets just go home."

* * *

As soon as I close the door to my room, I begin to blast some music. The smell of paint fills the air and I practically breathe it in. If I'm not hanging out with Simon, this is what my Friday night consists of. Filling up blank pages with designs of colors- reds, greens, indigos, anything I can think of. Sometimes I paint simple things- portraits, flowers, homes, but other times I paint symbols. Today I have chosen a strange variety of colors. Black, yellow and silver.

I plan on painting an eye.

I've never attempted to paint an eye before, but it seems that I can't get Jace's out of my head. His were different than anything I've seen before. They had tiny specks of darker colors in them, around a honey colored brown that appeared gold. I know I can't draw it perfectly because it's only an image in my mind, but it feels nice to try anyways.

My brush dips into the black as I draw an oval shape as the outline. The line goes from thick to thin around the corners, but somehow I manage to make it look pretty decent. It appears stern and a bit confused in expression, but I know I can change that with the use of the golds. Before I add anything else, I make sure to check the time- almost midnight. My mom won't yell at me to turn the music down until at least 1:30.

I bathe in the silvers and golds, almost forgetting myself as I add details. I am this eye- this enchanted, angelic eye. I am not Clary Fray, I am a painter who is drawing out a life that is not my own.

I'm so invested in it that I almost don't hear the knocking on my window. It startles me but I stand up. We used to live in an apartment building, so knocking would be very strange, but have recently moved into a one story house. Anyone can reach my room. The thought makes me panic a bit, but I know I am brave enough to look.

My hands sweep over the curtains and I am shocked at what I see.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" He asks and I know that my face has turned pale.

"What? How did you even get here?"

"Let me in and I'll tell you." He responds. I wish I could say no, but I open up the window. He slips inside like a shadow but still wears that sarcastic smirk.

* * *

"I'm not going to lie. I followed you here," Jace says and my eyes widen.

"Why?"

"Because I need somewhere to stay for tonight. Please."

I don't know what the hell he's talking about, and about a million questions swarm my mind but he seems to read my thoughts.

"Say yes and I'll explain everything. Okay?"

Maybe it won't be a bad idea. As long as he's not psychotic and doesn't try to hurt me. But how would I keep him here without my mom seeing? What if he _is_ crazy?

"Fine." I mumble.

I might regret that.

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Reviews are loved!


	3. Three

_**Jace's POV:**_

I'm honestly surprised she even let me in.

Without even a string of questions, doubts, and hopefully not fear, she just let me in. I guess that proves I can trust her. Or that I need to teach her how to be more careful around people. Normally, I wouldn't be so desperate as to use the word _please,_ but I understand people pretty well, and she seems like one who will listen if I offer kindness. I'm not used to being kind.

My eyes quickly scan around the room, her room. It's small but smells strongly of paint. Cans litter the floor, and on canvas facing me, I recognize the drawing. The black lines and the golden color. Clary painted my eye. I don't know why she would have done that, I know many people find me attractive but this amount of detail is pretty shocking. I would comment on it, but I don't want to get myself kicked out, so I choose to pretend not to notice it.

Clary looks at me for answers but I can't exactly find a way to turn my thoughts into words. It's all complicated and would probably take hours to explain. I don't want to risk her kicking me out but I really only need to stay for one night. I'm jealous of her secure house, of course, and would love to stay for longer, but I don't really want to taint her with all of my problems.

"This was a bad idea," I mumble but its loud enough for her to hear.

"Why?" She looks confused.

"I guess its not polite of me to just walk into someone's house. I'll see you next Friday." I say. Quickly, I turn around, tearing my eyes away from the painting, but her hand wraps around my wrist. Out of instinct, I pull mine away but begin to regret it.

"Jace, _why are you here_?" she asks again. I sigh, wishing that she would let me leave, but some hidden part of me desperately wants to confide in someone.

"There's something going on at my house and I don't want to stay there." Not a lie, but not the full truth.

"Don't you have grandparents or relatives?"

"No."

Her eyes widen, lips curving into a slight frown

"Should I call the police or something? Social services?" Clary asks and I immediately shake my head.

"No! That's a terrible idea."

"I'm guessing I'm not going to get the truth from you," she responds.

"Yeah."

I guess I feel bad for keeping things from her, but its better if she doesn't know. I can't trust people and I can't allow her to get involved. I don't want to risk her safety.

"Fine. You can sleep on the floor," she says.

What?

I almost don't believe her, but she begins to pull out folded blankets and pillows and I realize that I'm facing reality. I'm not putting her in danger for being here. The police wouldn't care if I were to be here, only my guilty conscience. _Just one night here and then you'll leave her alone. Then you'll be on your way._ I remind myself but something tells me that isn't true.

* * *

I dream about my childhood.

The same dream as every night.

I dream about a hunting falcon.

I see its wings- soaring, perching on my shoulder where everyone always knew it belonged. I remember whispering to it, because it was my only friend, even though it wasn't real. I remember telling my father, hoping he would be impressed. I remember crying about its death, and I remember never crying again.

My eyes snap open and I calm myself down. I'm on the floor in Clary's room.

"Are you okay?" She asks from on top of the bed.

"You're awake?" I question.

"You kept moving in your sleep."

Crap.

"I'm fine. Sorry."

"I know the difference between okay and fine. What were you dreaming about?"

I've never had someone care this much about anything I've done. This is something so small, a dream, and she's trying to help. She's trying to help me.

"I was dreaming about a memory. The time I lost the only thing I cared about."

She's silent for a moment and I'm about to take back my words, but then she speaks.

"What was it?"

"A falcon."

"It passed away?"

I honestly can't believe she's not laughing at me. She's taking me seriously. For once in my life, somebody is listening.

"It was killed. I trained it to be tamed but my father said I taught it love. He broke its neck and I learned that _to love is to destroy_."

"That's not true, you know. Love doesn't always mean destruction."

"Then what does it mean?" I question.

But I hear the steady beating of her heart, and I know that Clary has gone to sleep.

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Reviews are loved!


	4. Four

**Jace's POV:**

I wake up to a blinding sunlight streaming through the windows. It's only the beginning of sunrise, so my eyes feel heavy, but it's probably the best sleep I've had in a long time. Slowly and quietly, I sit up from the ground and begin to look around the room. The painting of my eye still sits on display, and I take a moment to really look at all the detail. Despite small errors in the outline, its very well done and I find myself smiling. Apart from that, many other pictures line the walls. She's sketched symbols and gardens, families and lonely, crying people. All are of course beautiful, and it takes me a long time to look at each and every one of them. But finally, my eyes raise to look at Clary.

She's fast asleep, covered with huge blankets with intricate patterns, but I can still see her face. I've only known her for about a day, but yet I can visibly see the difference from when she is sleeping and when she is awake. Now, her breathing is heavy with her lips turned up into a tiny bit of a smile. I wonder what she's dreaming about. I don't get to dream often- the dreams I have are more often nightmares, so it's nice to see that things come easy to her. Then again, she probably doesn't always sleep so soundlessly. We are both in group therapy, after all.

I know that it's most likely a good idea to sneak back out the window, incase her mom comes in, but I don't want Clary to think I'm not grateful and leave without a trace. She will want more answers if I stick around but I'm still not really willing to give her any. Clary does not need to know all about me, even though I desperately want her to. I don't want to leave this spot on the ground. If there were more hours in the day, I would spend them here, in this tiny house, looking at her through golden eyes.

She begins to stir a bit in her sleep, and suddenly sits up from her bed.

"You okay?" I ask, tensing my eyebrows.

"Yeah. What time is it?" she mumbles.

"Like 6:30."

"What? It's too early!" She groans and shakes her head. I laugh just a tiny bit, because this is probably one of the latest times I've ever slept in. I'm normally awoken by screaming, doors slamming and opening, or a dropped beer bottle. Never, ever, because of sunlight, or a beautiful girl.

"Go back to sleep. I should leave before your mom comes in. Thank you for letting me stay."

"You don't have to leave. My mom works on the weekends, she's never home when I wake up," Clary responds.

"Why does she work on the weekends?"

"She has some client who always wants to buy her paintings, and they meet each other every Saturday. One day I'm going to come home and they'll probably have run away together."

"They're dating?" I say.

"No, I mean, maybe, but I'm not really sure. But he buys_ all_ of her paintings so I might as well accept it."

"What's his name?"

"Luke. I've only seen him once or twice. He kind of looks like a werewolf."

I grin and lay my head back down on the pillow. My fingers fold into each other and rest on my chest. I begin to count tiles on the ceiling but the slight grin never leaves my face.

"That's a nice painting," I say, gesturing towards the one of my eye. Her face immediately flushes red but I don't mind. It's interesting getting different emotions out of her. "Don't be embarrassed. Nobody has ever paid attention to me like that before." I add, but the blush is still there. Clary makes a point to put her head facing the other way than my spot on the floor.

"Jace, you're like a walking Abercrombie model. I'm sure people have paid very close attention to you," she comments.

"I mean, yeah, people look, but.. it's hard to explain."

"So you're popular at your school and stuff? Have a bunch of friends?"

"I don't go to school. And my best friend is myself, but sometimes I recognize my flaws just to keep things interesting," I say.

This time, she is the one laughing, and I make a point to remember what it sounds like.

"Why don't you go to school?"

"I'm homeschooled, but my parents are really shitty teachers, so I just teach myself."

"You need to tell someone that. The Government can enroll you in a public school, right?"

I appreciate her concern. Really, I do, but its not much of her business what I do with my education. I would never get myself into drama with the Government, my family, or anyone concerned in that matter. It's too risky.

"I don't want to talk about it," I simply state, and then stand fully stand up from the ground. She looks at me with clear confusion as I begin to pace very slowly around the room.

"You want breakfast?" she asks, but I shake my head.

"I think I should go. Thanks for everything, Clary," I reply. Before she can even try to stop me, I'm already standing on the streets of New York. And already, I miss her.

* * *

**Clary's POV:**

He leaves without a trace. I would like to call his name, stop him or something, but his blonde hair has already disappeared. I start asking myself the typical questions- where is he going, when will I see him again, why did he leave, but it begins to consume me and I decide I need to put my thoughts somewhere else. I take a few shuffled steps forward and pick up the painting, carefully placing it against the wall. I consider hanging it up, but that would be awkward if Jace shows up here again.

My body moves slowly from waking up so early as I begin to put away blankets and pillows. It's sad erasing the memory of his stay. I wish he would have been here longer so I won't just sit around all day. I could call Simon, but he doesn't wake up until at least noon.

After the small bed on the ground is cleaned up, I immediately head towards the kitchen to cook some sort of breakfast. As usual, paint is scattered around the living room, and the TV is on. The local news broadcast begins giving reports of several burglaries and other crimes. I turn it down and begin to cook the only food we even have in this house- eggs. I always make them scrambled, even fried a bit along the edges. And with a bit of salt and pepper, I begin to eat the breakfast I have practically everyday.

My mind is wandering- still thinking about Jace, and all the other chores I should probably get done, until something catches my eye. The name- Wayland, on the TV screen. _Jace Wayland._

I practically hurl myself towards the remote and turn the volume as loud as possible. A young reporter stands in front of a green screen, talking.

"-Last night, police believe to have found a new suspect in the Susan Young murder case. Susan was a fifteen year old girl who's body was found just over two days ago, with brutal stab wounds and attempted assault. A resident of Northern New York was bothered by a party last night, calling in a complaint of loud music. When police officers arrived, they met Michael Wayland, a 45 year old Caucasian male and the owner of the house, and noticed that he was wearing a necklace identical to the one that Susan Young was wearing during her time of death. Evidence is being tested right now, that is all we have at this time."

I sit frozen for a couple of seconds.

There's not many Wayland's in northern New York. The party must have caused Jace to need somewhere to stay- here, with me. His father would be Michael, who killed birds, who doesn't teach Jace...


	5. Five

_**I had to repost this chapter because it wouldn't show up/fanfiction froze down for me. Hope this isn't annoying.**_

Thanks so much for all the support on this story so far! I hope you continue to enjoy!

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**Jace's POV:**

I'm thankful that the cop cars have disappeared from the front of my house. I don't want to deal with my father's problems. Technically, he isn't my real father, but he is the only one who raised me. There aren't many other titles for him.

I saw the sirens arrive last night before I sprinted to Clary's. There was always a suspicion in my mind that my father had something deeper than just anger, and the newspaper this morning proved that. Most teenagers don't normally have to face their fathers arrest, suspect for the death of a young girl, but by now I'm used to the crazy situations. Maybe this time he'll actually be guilty, and I'll be sent somewhere better. Anywhere away from Michael Wayland is a better home than this one. I would rather not even call myself a Wayland, if you want to get technical, Herondale is my last name, but changing it would involve too much legal problems that I don't want to put up with.

Clary has probably seen the news by now. She's probably regretting ever letting me stay with her, hell, she's probably afraid of me by now. I hate that my dad's problems are giving me a reputation. I didn't really care before, but now that I have a friend (Clary is my friend, right?), I let it get to me. I let the anger that he has built up inside me every single night take control, and I push myself into the house. My hand goes straight to a vase that sits on the kitchen table, and I push it so hard that the glass shatters all over the floor. Everything in sight- every thing that my dad ever cared about, I knock to the ground. A picture frame, an ancient wine bottle, it all makes a picture on the floor. Not nearly as lovely as Clary's paintings, but I see some similarities.

After there is nothing, and I mean nothing, left to destroy, _to love is to destroy,_ I compose myself. I look into the cracked mirror and fix my mess of blond hair, straighten up the black shirt that seems to be sticking to me with sweat, and shake my head a few times. I don't plan on coming back to this place. I refuse to see these rooms everyday, I refuse to see my father if he makes it away innocently. I plan to run, I don't know where, but somewhere far away. I don't want to leave Clary, but its best for her, and I'm sure she doesn't want to see me again.

I gather up anything that has meaning to me- some old clothes, a book and the remains of my dad's money. It's strange seeing how small my pile of importance is. At least now, Michael Wayland will feel as small as I have for all these years.

Maybe now he'll realize I'm gone.

The phone rings.

* * *

**Clary's POV**:

I really should be scared of him. The son of a murder suspect was sleeping in my room. But I'm honestly not scared. I still don't know the first thing about him, but now I want to know everything. I understand why he seemed so tense around me, probably because he's not used to being around people. I wonder how his father treated him. Mine never cared for me, he was always drinking, doing crazy things, never coming home. He drove my mom to file a divorce, and my mom insisted for me to join the therapy group- to hopefully sort out the pain I felt from my dad. But now, I'd really just like to talk to Jace about it. How much pain has Michael Wayland inflicted?

Immediately, I grab a phone book off the table and start frantically flipping through the pages. I was right- there is only one Wayland in this section of New York. Michael Wayland, and, luckily, a phone number.

I dial it as quickly as I can. The phone begins to ring, and I start to second guess myself, but I let it ring. _Pick up, pick up, pick up.._

"Uh, hello?" A voice says from the other end. Jace.

"Jace!" I exclaim. There is a stunned silence from the other end of the line.

"You shouldn't be calling here, Clary," he mumbles. There is something in his voice- pain or anger, but I choose to ignore it for now.

"Why?"

"You just shouldn't be talking to me. I have to go."

"No!" I practically shout into the phone. I know that he is probably about to do something stupid. Run away, let out his anger, judging by the amount of emotion in his voice, "-I saw your dad on the news this morning, Jace. Are you okay?"

"This is why you shouldn't be talking to me. My dad's in jail, aren't you supposed to be cowering from me?"

"I'm not scared of you. I'm scared about what you might do. My dad used to get into all this stuff, and it would drive me crazy, I just don't want you to do anything you might regret because you sound really angry."

"Of course I'm angry!" He answers. I take a deep breath.

"You need to calm down. Where is the house you're at?" I ask.

"Why does it matter?"

"I can help you if you tell me where you are," I reply.

"I don't want your help, Clary! I don't want you involved in any of this. These are all my problems, it's spiraling out of control, and I don't want you to get involved! You're just going to get hurt and you know that."

"Where is the house?" I ask again. I don't care how hurt he thinks I'm going to get.

"Clary.." He growls.

"Where is the house?" I repeat.

There's a long, drawn out moment, but then he replies. "New Haven. First house on the right."

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Reviews are loved. c:


	6. Six

A few songs for this chapter include Blood Bank by Bon Iver, Hallelujah by Imogen Heap & Don't Look Back by Kissing Cousins

* * *

**Clary's POV:**

When I arrive at the house in New Haven, Jace isn't there.

The door is left unlocked. Random objects are broken all over the ground, the phone which he called me on sits propped up on the kitchen table, but he isn't in the house. I call his name several times, even wander into other rooms. I was too late. He made a decision to go a different way, and I can already feel myself getting worried. He may run into trouble on the streets, or weather if he has no where to live..But there's not a point in sitting in this house all day, because by the looks of it, he isn't coming back.

The rest of the remaining hours, I spend on Google- searching Michael Wayland and anyone with the same last name around this area. There isn't much except some old news articles, none that are particularly interesting. I eat another meal of scrambled eggs, then read a few Anime stories I have yet to look at. Before I'm even aware, my eyes are shutting to the sound of the blaring TV.

_Saturday_ I spend mostly sleeping. Simon comes over for a few hours, and we talk about the normal things, but while he uses the bathroom or gets something from his house, I call the number to Jace's house. I know I won't get an answer, but I can't seem to stop myself. And when Simon returns, I choose not to tell him anything I'm thinking about.

_Sunday_ is a blur of chores. My mother forces me to take out the trash, and I force myself to do it because I need to distract my mind. I clean up my room, staring a bit longer at the golden eye than I should be. It sits on display in my room, for everyone to see, but for only me to understand.

_Monday_ begins the week of school. Classes, more classes, where I keep daydreaming about where he could be.

_Tuesday_ starts off with a chance of being normal, except this time the panic gets to me. I see Jace dead, beaten, even jailed. I don't know why I'm worried so much but I can't help myself. I've never met anyone like him before. I don't think I've ever cared so much about anyone, unless you count Simon.

_Wednesday_ is slow. Everything feels like it's in slow motion, and I even find myself getting angry at anyone who is standing in my way. Each class feels like days, years, even centuries before the bell rings. My mother and I cook some sort of decent dinner and talk about art. She tells me that she painted a falcon, and I can't help myself that night from trying the phone again. There is not a response.

_Thursday_, I begin to finally loose hope. I want to know that Jace is somewhere safe- maybe with a friend or in a shelter, but my mind just can't seem to accept it...

* * *

Today is Friday.

"It just doesn't make any sense!" Simon exclaims as we walk through the cold.

"Simon, you've already seen the ending. Stop questioning it."

We've been talking about Lost conspiracies for a good half an hour now. The walk to the therapy office isn't too far from school, but we normally take the long way to talk. I still thank Simon before every session for coming with me, but today I feel bad because my mind is elsewhere. I'm thinking about the spot in the room that I know will be empty. I don't know how Jace even afforded to join our sessions, or honestly why exactly he was signed up in the first place, but there's nothing wrong with thinking of possibilities. Like Simon is right now.

"But there's so many things that don't add up!" he says. I laugh at his ability to keep the conversation going.

"Nothing has to add up. It was one of the best TV show twists in history. They can do whatever they want."

Simon continues to mumble about death and theories until we finally approach the door. The building is tall and half made of glass, with many other offices inside of it. Mostly health related. I love the way the sunlight shines off of the glass windows. It looks so effortless but beautiful. If I could dedicate some time to it, I would paint a picture of the colors and shadows but nothing would compare to the real picture.

Simon opens the door for me and I grin, instantly moving my hands to my exposed arms. The building is freezing cold and I rub to create some sort of friction.

"We'll freeze to death before we can even talk about our problems," I state.

"That might not be a bad thing."

I flash him a smirk, and begin the walk down the carpeted hallway. The walls are painted an ugly, dull green that reminds me of vomit. I've pointed it out many times, always effectively grossing Simon out.

Mrs. Greene stands in front of the door. In her hands are sheets of paper and pens.

"We are going to be doing some partner and group work today! On this paper, I want you to draw a picture of yourself. Exactly how you see yourself, including insecurities. I will explain the rest when everybody gets here, but don't show anyone your drawing until I say so," she explains. I nod and grab a piece of paper, and an old blue pen. I really don't want to draw a picture of myself but there's not really a different option. I swing open the glass door, and look into the room.

The chairs are set up once again in a clockwise direction. Isabelle is painting her nails, although Alec and Magnus have yet to arrive.

And there, right where midnight would be on a clock, sits Jace Wayland.

I almost drop my pen as he looks up.

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Reviews are loved c: Sorry this chapter is short.


	7. Seven

Thanks for your patience :) Enjoy!

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_**Clary's POV:**_

There are no bruises on his face. There is no blood. There is only dark, blue circles underneath his eyes. He looks completely exhausted. His body is practically slumping over in the chair, and his pen balances on the edge of the seat. Without even mentioning anything to Simon, I practically run over to his chair.

"Clary," he mutters. Jace's voice sounds out of breath and different. Not lively as it was a couple days ago.

"What happened to you?" I ask, even though I'm almost positive I won't get a definite answer. I'm not leaving this spot until I at least get something out of him. I don't care how vague the statement.

"Nothing happened," he replies. I roll my eyes theatrically.

"You look like you just got ran over by a bus, Jace. Where have you been? What happened with your dad?" I almost feel bad for pestering him so much, but then I remember that he hurt me as well. He left me without any sort of explanation.

"I'm too tired to think. Ask me later," he almost grins.

"I might not know you that well but I'm still insanely curious. Tell me," I demand. Crossing my arms, I try my hardest to make my expression look stern. His smile only grows wider, and a chuckle escapes his lips. I wish I could appear much more threatening- but my strange figure and red hair makes me look like a small child.

"Half the reason I left the house was because I didn't want to get you involved." He is suddenly serious, "You're better off not knowing. I promise,"

I want to question him about a dozen times more- but Simon calls my name from the other side of the room. His expression is quizzical. However, I don't want to cause confusion, and the group is about to start- so I head back towards my seat. I can feel Jace's eyes on my back the entire way.

"What were you two talking about?" Simon asks, although I can hear a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

"Nothing much," I hastily reply.

"He looked kind of concerned, Clary. I didn't even know that you knew him."

"I don't. I need to draw," I say with a sigh. I had almost forgotten about the assignment. There are about a million other things that I would rather be doing right now than drawing a portrait of myself, but the art-loving part of me takes over. My pen ghosts over the page like it is meant to be there, and I draw intricate details. The freckles under my eyes- the flaming red hair, the blue jacket that I am wearing. It all comes together into a picture of me- well, as far as I'm concerned, how I see myself.

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"You all must be wondering what the point of this assignment was," Mrs. Greene announces. Isabelle murmurs something which causes Magnus to laugh, but Mrs. Greene pretends to not notice. If that clique wasn't so exclusive, I would almost try to get in on their jokes. "This is a self confidence exercise and a group bonding activity. I want each of you to stand up."

I do as follows, keeping my eyes down and away from Jace. I know that if I look at him, my curiosity will begin to get the best of me.

"The person directly across from you will be your partner," she says.

Across from me, of course, is Jace.

"You will give your drawing to your partner, and your partner will give their drawing to you. You need to examine their drawing and correct anything that looks wrong. For example- if Alec made a big deal of a tiny flaw, correct it so that it appears how it does to you."

Alec rolls his eyes at Mrs. Greene but I am too focused on the golden boy in front of me. He stares at me with an eyebrow lifted.

We are released to begin the project, but with each forward step, my stomach begins to drop.

"I guess this is fate," Jace jokes. I sigh and hold my ground.

"You know, most girls would be celebrating that they were paired with me" he remarks. I choose not to reply, and instead snatch his drawing right out of his hands. There are too many questions I would rather be asking right now but I know that I'm not going to get any answers.

Looking at the page, I notice immediately that he has drawn himself exactly as others see him. There are no bad features highlighted, just plain and simple Jace.

"You didn't even do this right," I mutter.

"I did it right. I'm completely flawless," he snickers. I stare back at the drawing. The details are better than I expected. He has drawn the laces on his shoes, and the dark specks of color in his eyes. However, the one thing that I do notice is the facial expression. Instead of a wild grin, he has drawn a deep frown. There are creases between his eyebrows, with a different colored pen, and dark circles under his eyes.

Trying not to look up at him, I pull out my own pen and begin the corrections. I circle the frown and draw in his goofy smile- almost exactly as it looks in reality. In addition, I make sure to put emphasis on his eyes.

He returns my paper with a bit of a scowl. My eyes wander immediately to the page. He has drawn over practically everything- turning my eyes brighter, my body slimmer, my smile wider, my hair neater.

"You're terrible at self portraits, Clary. This drawing was not you at all- it was fake and twisted," he says, then shakes his head and starts over, "Looking at you, the only thing I can think of is _beautiful._"

I can already feel the blush spreading to my cheeks. Nobody has ever complimented me like that before- nobody has called me beautiful, except for my mom or Luke. The air between us feels a bit awkward, but I don't mind.

"I don't smile very often," Jace adds, pointing at the correction on his paper.

"I know. I just wanted you to look happier. It suits you."

"Hm." His expression suddenly gets very serious, "Clary?"

"Yes?"

"I'll answer your questions tonight. I promise."

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A/N: The infernal devices series is amazing! Are you guys team Will or Jem?


	8. Eight

**Clary's POV:**

I know that he decided to keep his promise, because the knock on my bedroom window doesn't even startle me. The initial nervousness presents itself, and I quickly throw the self portrait underneath my bed, because I don't want him to know that I've been looking about it. Or thinking of him as much as I have today.

But mainly I want answers. I want to know where he went, and I want to know what's going on with his dad. He promised me, and I can use that to my advantage.

I sweep my red hair into a messy bun, before climbing over to unlock the window. It takes a few tries due to the rust that it beginning to form. The cold hair hits me, and I shiver, but I'm more focused on his face. Even through the darkness outside, I can clearly make out his golden eyes and matching hair. He grins slightly, crookedly, but by now I'm almost used to seeing it. Jace.. he's still a mystery, but at least I have a small part of him figured out.

"You could just leave the window unlocked," he remarks, pulling himself into my room.

"I'd rather not have strangers climbing in when I'm not around," I reply with an eye roll.

"Yes, but I'm not a stranger."

I turn my back on him, as if to act annoyed, but we both know that I'm not really bothered by his comments. He's made of sarcasm, but that's easy to understand. It only adds to the image I have of him in my head, because I read somewhere that people who are secretive tend to hide things with sarcasm. They don't answer honestly.

"You don't get to move until you give me some answers," I suddenly demand, stopping him in his tracks. Jace's face drops a little, just a tiny bit but enough for me to notice.

"I don't get why you're so eager to be involved in my business," he mutters, crossing his arms, "It doesn't seem like my family history is a very appealing topic."

"It is to me."

He looks shocked- well, not shocked, but a bit in awe. I don't doubt that I am one of the only people to ever recognize his importance.

"Well, you already know what happened to my father," he points out. I remember the news report exactly. Michael Wayland was suspected of murder- but what exactly does that prove?

"Not all of it. I only know that he was suspected. What happened?"

"He's still in police custody. They didn't find anything at the house but they aren't done with the investigation. They aren't ruling him out," Jace says. He looks a bit uncomfortable.

"And what do you think?" I ask, nervously.

"What?"

"About your dad. Do you think he's innocent?"

This seems to catch Jace off guard. His eyes lower from my own, and I can hear his breathing becoming shakier. This is the most visible he's ever been with me- regarding a topic like emotions.

"No. I think he's guilty."

"Why?" I immediately ask. My fatal flaw- curiosity.

"He's not a good man, Clary. I don't want to give anymore details. Okay?" He pleads with me. But I agree, with a slight "okay", because I know that telling the truth must be hard for him. But I am proud that I have gained his trust. There is no explanation as to why I care so much about him- maybe its the gold in his eyes that reek of innocence, or maybe the dark specks of brown that reek of guilt.

"I want to tell you," he whispers, so quietly that I almost don't hear it, "But it's hard."

"I know. It's okay," I attempt to reassure him.

"No it's not!" His voice has risen, and I silently give a thank you because my mom isn't home, "I should be able to talk about this stuff. You're the only friend I have and I can't even tell you about my own father!"

Without even realizing it, I am already stepping over to try to comfort him. My eyes stare into his own- trying to offer peace and sympathy. There is a cloud of thoughts rushing through my mind. Phrases that I could say that could help him- give him peace..

But I don't have time to do any of that, because his lips have crashed against my own. He kisses me with overwhelming force. In fact, it even takes me a few seconds to realize what's actually happening. But I know that I am already responding- kissing him back with every part of me. He's so close that I know that if I were to open my eyes, I would be looking right into his golden one. Angelic, maybe, but simply beautiful to me.

I have always just been Clary Fray.

But maybe now, I'm more than that.

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**Please review and I'll update really soon! :) xx**


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